


What's One Bite Between Friends?

by BilbosBooty



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Edit: Yeah ok were deffo heading for Geralt/Regis, Gen, M/M, Regis has all the brain cells and hes not sharing, TW: violence towards children and implied death of children, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, also im pretty sure Detlaff will show up at some point, and book mentions too, but you wont miss much if you havent read them, con-crit welcome!, game spoilers for blood and wine, hansa mentions, just about everything may change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27280375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BilbosBooty/pseuds/BilbosBooty
Summary: Geralt and Regis have one final ingredient left to collect for the resonance, but nothing is ever as straightforward as it seems.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy
Comments: 31
Kudos: 127





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've written Regis, never mind published my writing of him. Hopefully he's in character.  
> Some expositionary dialogue taken from the game in places.

Regis sat in the doorway of the mausoleum watching the summer rain pour down over the crumbling gravestones. The smell of petrichor hung in the humid air, enveloping him in a comforting blanket of damp earth and wet grass. Rainwater dripped down the worn stone doorframe and pooled at his feet, it’s quiet pitter-patter echoed through the corridors. Mice scurried around in some hidden corner, squeaking softly. 

Regis sighed, watching the boughs of the distant trees sway in the blustery wind, shedding soaked leaves across the cemetery. A particularly harsh gust blew through the door, bringing with it sandy earth and leaf litter. A raven croaked somewhere among the tombstones, taking flight and heading for the swaying branches above. 

Dawn had broken only a few hours ago and the sun had just begun to cast its rays above the dense treeline. Geralt wouldn't return for quite some time, not until at least after dusk, Regis thought to himself. Geralt had left some time after midnight in search of the Spotted Wight that Regis’ birds had found. Knowing Geralt, the Witcher would get caught up in something that wasn't any of his business while he was gone, so Regis was in no particular rush to complete his potion. 

He had decided to get some fresh air while his barely started brew simmered. It was something he only knew of theoretically, called Sangurium, and it would need to be closely monitored due to the fact that this was his first time making it. It would supposedly sharpen his sense of smell, or at least, it would do that to a human, and most other mammals, so he hoped it would do the same to him. He supposed that at some point he should persuade one of the local ravens to accompany him back inside so he could use it’s blood, though that could wait.

He wasn't at all looking forward to what was to come. If he was honest with himself, he would really rather have found a different way, but there was none he knew of, no safer way at least. Besides, he owed his life to Detlaff, more than his life really, since without him he would not only be functionally dead, but also living his every moment still in that awful twisted purgatory filled with pain and fear and darkness. This was but a small way to begin to pay back that debt, in his opinion. Regis worried that Geralt might not see it his way. The Witcher would definitely try to stop him, to find another way, regardless of what Regis told him. He planned to be beyond the point of no return by the time Geralt got back that evening. 

He could hear the telltale sound of the cauldron beginning to boil over somewhere in the depths of the mausoleum. With a final glance out over the cemetery, he rose from his seat on the cracked stone lid of an old tomb and returned to his worktable. 

He could still tell it was raining even while he was deep underground. Water dripped through the cracked stone above and ran down the walls in shallow rivulets, pooling on the flagstones below. He moved his cauldron further away from the fire and busied himself with a strainer, also adding fuel to a small burner beneath an extraction still. He was hoping that he could make this potion as potent as possible in the time that he had; the stronger it was the more effective it would be, and hopefully make his ordeal a bit shorter. 

No sooner had he poured his concoction from the cauldron, through the strainer, and into the still, the mausoleum door opened with a distant thud in the tunnels above him. 

“Regis?” Geralt’s voice echoed down to him. “Regis? You home?” 

Regis watched as a clear blue liquid dripped through the condenser and into a vial positioned beneath it. It would have to undergo this process at least another four or five times to be as potent as he needed. As it was now, it would have virtually no effect on him. 

He sighed, turning away as Geralt rounded the corner into his home. The Witchers soaked hair clung to his face, and rain water dripped from his armour.

“Good morning.” Regis smiled toothily, stepping away from the workbench as if he wasn’t using it just a moment ago. “You’ve returned sooner than I had expected. Everything went well, I trust?” He led Geralt over to a table with two chairs. The tabletop was littered with alchemy reagents and equipment parts, which Regis quickly tidied away, motioning for Geralt to make himself comfortable. 

“More or less, yeah.” Geralt replied, taking a seat. “Spent most of it hidden in a wardrobe.” 

“This sounds like an interesting story.” Regis said, joining Geralt at the table. 

Geralt recounted his story, explaining how he had lifted the curse on the Wight, only to be attacked by Barghests as soon as he left the manor. He was sporting a deep gash on his arm from the experience. He finished up by admitting that he’d taken the poor woman to his home at Corvo Bianco, to recover in the care of his majordomo. 

“It’s perhaps better that you found her, rather than some other knights errant.” Regis mused once Geralt had finished. “I’ve never known you to be the type of person to attempt to solve your problems with your swords first, and only try a different means after.”

“I wonder how our friendship would’ve turned out if I was.” Geralt smiled. 

“Yes, I believe silver was your… third approach.” Regis chuckled. “After politely ignoring the issue, and then asking nicely.” 

“Then came the resigned acceptance.” Geralt replied. They fell into a comfortable silence, which was only broken when Geralt winced as he reached for his pocket, producing a dark amber glass vial.

“Let me take a look at that.” Regis said, properly taking in the torn, bloodsoaked sleeve between the cuff of Geralt’s glove and edge of his armour. There were vicious looking scratches in the hardened leather of his armour at either side. Judging by their depth it was perhaps a miracle that he got away with such a relatively minor injury. 

“It’s nothing.” Geralt waved him away, pressing the vial into Regis' hand instead. “Had much worse. Besides, it's already starting to heal over.” 

Regis raised an eyebrow, looking between Geralt’s stalwart expression to the still-damp bloodstain covering his sleeve, unimpressed and thoroughly unconvinced. 

“Okay.” Geralt sighed, removing his glove and gingerly rolling up his sleeve. “Sometimes I forget you were a barber-surgeon.” He peeled the shredded cloth from the wound with a wince. 

“I still am.” Regis retorted, pulling Geralt’s left arm across the table with a nonchalant aire. “In the last few years it just appears that my clientele has become somewhat reduced, mainly to you and those who associate with you.” 

Geralt smiled to himself, remembering all the times that Regis had patched up the Hansa on their travels. He was drawn sharply from his thoughts when something smelling strongly of alcohol and yarrow was poured over his arm. To say that it stung would’ve been an understatement. Geralt tried to put on a brave face, instead focusing on Regis as he frowned and poked at the cut. 

“Oho, healing by itself is it?” he shot Geralt a wry smile, tugging at something lodged in Geralt’s arm that had previously gone unnoticed. 

After an excruciating moment he pulled out what looked like a broken animal claw. 

“Your stubbornness will be the death of you.” Regis sighed, digging around in a leather satchel that rested out of the way on a shelf above the table. He retrieved some clean linen and pressed it firmly against Geralt’s arm, which had begun to bleed again sluggishly. 

“Not if I can help it.” Geralt smiled as Regis just rolled his eyes. 

“I won’t bother stitching this.” Regis said, winding gauze and then a linen bandage around Geralt’s forearm. “Knowing you, you’d just tear them open straight away.” 

Geralt smiled, fully taking in the fact that Regis was back, and _here_ ; right in front of him after so long of believing he was dead. He was filled with a myriad of feelings, none of which he could particularly pick apart from the mass enough to put a name to. Regis glanced over his shoulder at the workbench, checking on his still. 

“So, what have you been up to since I left?” Geralt asked with a yawn. “Did you get anywhere with the other ingredient for the resonance?” 

Regis sighed, looking down at his hands contemplatively as he scrubbed the remnants of Geralt’s blood from his fingers. He wondered how best to approach the topic, ultimately deciding that honesty was always the best policy. 

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asked, a concerned frown furrowed his brow. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can find a solution.” 

“It’s rather the solution that concerns me.” Regis looked up from his hands, surprising Geralt with the intensity of his gaze. 

“Okay. Start from the beginning?” Geralt suggested, leaning his elbows on the table. 

“To use the resonance to summon the memories of one, it must contain the blood of another of the same species.” Regis explained. 

“That shouldn't be a problem. I happen to know a higher vampire that should be willing to help. Right, Regis?” Geralt smiled knowingly. 

“It's not that simple, I’m afraid.” Regis replied. “While you were away I tried my damndest to find a replacement, but none such exists.”

“I’m... not sure I'm following here.” Geralt interrupted. “Can't we just draw some of your blood?” Regis shook his head as he began his explanation. 

“The blood must be in an agitated state. As I'm sure you well know, we higher vampires can change our corporeal forms. As our form changes so does the chemical composition of our blood.” He paused for a moment. “To make a long story short, we will need to induce in me an overwhelming state of psychokinetic arousal. One which stands to be very dangerous.”

Geralt hummed in agreement. 

“I remember stygga castle.” He mused. “Is there really no other way to contact Detlaff?”

“None safer than this.” Regis replied resolutely. 

“Safer for who?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow. “This doesn't seem very safe for either of us.” 

“It is far, far safer than any alternative. So much safer in fact that I’ll not consider the others as viable options.” Regis replied firmly.

“You’ve done your research, and you clearly know what youre talking about.” Geralt said. “I trust you, Regis. All I’m saying is the last time you were in that state of mind you got yourself melted.” Geralt sighed. “I’d rather not have to live through that again.” 

“Neither would I, my friend.” Regis smiled warmly. “But as far as I am aware, there will be no unhinged sorcerers or princesses in need of rescue. Only you and me.” 

“Yeah.” Geralt sighed. “As stupid as this plan seems, it’s the best we’ve got. I'm with you so far, what's next?” 

“We shall visit Tesham Mutna, an ancient vampire estate. It was built to contain one of my kind, Khagmar. Shortly after the conjunction, he had developed such a lust for human blood that he could drain an entire village in a night. This brought trouble on the entire species. People weared of living in constant fear, so began to hunt vampires with abandon, sending witchers and mages to track us.” Regis explained.

“So what? Not like they stood a chance.” Geralt interjected.

“But they were bothersome. The other vampires decided that enough was enough, and something had to be done about Khagmar. A torture chamber was outfitted in the dungeons of Tesham Mutna. Inside it they made a cage of silver, dalvinite, and meteorite steel. He was captured and locked inside for over two centuries.”

“Is this a vampire fairy tale?'' Geralt asked curiously, recognising the structure from many of the traditional fairy tales he had encountered. 

“It does bear some resemblance to one.” Regis mused. “It's commonly told to children as a cautionary tale, however the key elements and events are very real. Tesham Mutna exists, as does the torture chamber within it.” Geralt nodded and slowly lowered his head into his hands. 

“Regis, what the fuck.” Geralt grumbled, muffled by his palms. 

“That is my plan, as it stands.” Regis said simply, rising from the table and returning to his workbench. He removed the vial from the condenser and began cleaning the filter in the still so it could be redistilled. 

“Don't tell me this is something to do with your plan too?” Geralt asked, gesturing to the apparatus that Regis was fiddling with. 

“Yes, I'm afraid so.” Regis replied. “It is Sangurium. It will supposedly sharpen my sense of smell, meaning that a single drop of blood will smell like a gallon.”

“Supposedly?” Geralt asked. 

“It's not something I've ever had need of in the past, so I've had no reason to make it or use it.” Regis explained. 

“What’s next, Regis?” Geralt sighed, raising his head from his hands. “Perhaps I could go into the nearest village and find you a young virgin to drain?” he shook his head. “Wouldn't that be a task worthy of a Witcher…” 

“Animal blood will probably do the job.” Regis replied quietly, not looking up from the still that he was rapidly putting back together. 

“My guess was closer than I would’ve liked.” Geralt said. “What do you mean ‘do the job’?”

“Well,” Regis began “if you were to put blood in front of me as I am now, it would take you an awfully long time to get a reaction, if at all.” he smiled, replacing the now empty vial back underneath the condenser. “Time that we neither have to spare, nor that I am willing to suffer through. If however, I was already intoxicated, well, let’s just say that moderation is not something I have ever been overly familiar with.” 

“Never has you down as an all-or-nothing kind of guy.” Geralt laughed, giving Regis an appraising look. 

“Yes, well, you've never seen me at my all, thankfully.” Regis mused. They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment. Regis retook his seat at the table. 

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting out just enough of its warm amber glow to make the crypt feel almost homey. They had spent many evenings together in Beauclair when the Hansa had wintered there, sitting much like they were now. Geralt could almost see the years fall away from Regis' face as he thought back on those times. 

They would sit up together until the early hours of the morning talking about whatever came to mind; philosophy, the past, the future, their friends, their lovers. Perhaps the only person in existence that Geralt had found easier to talk to than Regis was Dandelion, but the bard had spent his every waking moment with the dutchess, so he and Regis had grown close. 

“When do you expect we’ll be leaving?” Geralt asked, drawing himself back to the present. 

“This will need at least another six hours to brew properly.” Regis said, indicating to the still. “As I said, you returned rather a lot sooner than I had anticipated. I'm afraid you’ll have to wait around a while.”

“Fine by me. Think I'll meditate for a few hours, not had any sleep in far too long.” Geralt said, stifling another yawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how long this will end up being, but I have a couple of chapters ready (almost) to post, so hopefully those should be up soon. Comments, Kudos, and Con-crit all welcome! I'll try to reply to you if you do leave anything :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left me Kudos and comments on the last chapter, it really means a lot and encourages me to write more. I promise I'll do a better job of replying to you all this time :')

Regis spent the rest of the afternoon preparing his decoction, making notes about the way the filtration process affected the final product on the off chance he would need to prepare this again in the future, all while Geralt “meditated” with his head resting on the table, snoring softly. It wasn't like any form of meditation Regis had ever seen. A fond smile crept onto his face as he looked at his sleeping friend. After an hour or so of Regis pottering around quietly it became clear that Geralt was indeed snoozing rather than meditating, so Regis had draped a woollen blanket across his friends shoulders, as quietly as possible, careful not to wake him. 

It was late afternoon, the rain could no longer be heard dripping in through the long decayed roof, and Regis' decoction needed perhaps one more filtration to be truly effective. He had taken a break from his alchemy to turn his attention toward more culinary endeavours; preparing a vegetable stew for when Geralt awoke. It sat bubbling away in a cauldron over the fire, almost ready to serve. Regis was about to start the final distillation when a groan sounded from Geralt's direction. 

“Good evening.” Regis smiled as Geralt raised his head from the table. “Interesting meditation technique you have there.” Geralt looked around for a moment, bleary eyed and barely conscious. He Registered the blanket draped over his shoulders at almost the same time as the thin trail of drool down his cheek. 

“Mhmm. Witcher training. You wouldn’t understand.” Geralt mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with a yawn. “What smells so good?” 

“Vegetable potage.” Regis smiled. “I assumed you wouldn't have had much chance to eat during your busy day.” 

“You’re every Witcher’s dream.” Geralt said sleepily, drawing the blanket around his shoulders. 

“I'm sure many would disagree.” Regis flashed him a smile that was all teeth. 

“Their loss.” Geralt shrugged. 

“It's not quite ready.” Regis explained.

“And I ought to find a raven to accompany me inside before dinner, so that I can use its blood.” he said sadly. 

“Would human blood not be better?” Geralt frowned. “From what you were saying earlier it sounded like it would have more of an effect.” 

“It probably would…” Regis mused. “But it hardly seems worth the trouble. Toussaint has enough of a vampire problem without me falling off the wagon.” 

Geralt nodded and was silent for a moment. Regis rose as the sound of the cauldron bubbling became louder. He served the stew into two bowls and placed them down on the table, along with a loaf of bread that he procured from a makeshift pantry in a cool corner. 

“Wait, what about me?” Geralt asked, pouring the stew into his mouth straight from the bowl. 

“What  _ about _ you?” Regis clarified, opting to use a spoon in a dignified manner. 

“I’m human!... ish.” Geralt said as if this was the solution to some great mystery. “Would my blood not work?” 

Regis frowned, clearly thinking this over.

“It's been hours since I had any potions, so my metabolism should've pretty much purged them from my system by now.” Geralt explained. 

“I…” Regis hummed in thought. “Yes I suppose it would? But that's not exactly something I'd like to put you through.” 

“Oh, so you’re allowed to literally torture yourself, but as soon as I suggest a friendly munch, we’ve gone too far?” Geralt said, laughing into his bowl. 

“Okay, you make a fair point.” Regis conceded. “But I'm not sure what you'll experience. From what I’ve seen it doesn't appear to be particularly enjoyable.”

“It can't be that bad.” Geralt said, shoving the last of his bread into his mouth. “I've been bitten by Alps and Bruxae before... Oh, and one  _ very  _ angry Katakan.”

Regis sighed, looking concerned. 

“My main concern was always getting them off me, and I wasn't worried about much beyond that. So, I guess if i'm not trying to pry you off then we should be fine? Besides, their teeth are so sharp it barely hurts” 

“It's a miracle you’re still alive.” Regis sighed. 

“Yeah, tell me about it...” Geralt said. They fell into a companionable silence as Regis stacked their bowls and tidied them away. 

“How much longer do you need for that?” Geralt asked, nodding to the workbench. 

“Perhaps half an hour?” Regis replied, “It needs to finish filtering through the condenser and separate once it's done.” Geralt nodded in response. 

“Anything I can do to help while we wait?” he asked after a moment. 

“Prepare you swords perhaps? I'm not sure what creatures call Tesham Mutna home, but they will undoubtedly not be pleasant.” Regis replied. 

Geralt applied several oils to his swords, covering everything from Necrophages to Insectoids. Anything that was likely to live in a dark cave or abandoned fortress he tried to prepare for. He’d stored several different potion vials in his belt pouches for easy access, pointedly not taking a single one. Regis had smothered the burner beneath the still and decanted his decoction into a wide brimmed glass vial, leaving it beside the condenser. Thick steam rose from its surface as it finished cooling, dispersing over the edges of the vial and pooling strangely beneath it.

“How far are we travelling?” Geralt asked, watching the vial curiously. 

“It's a fair few miles south.” Regis explained, testing the temperature of the vial with the back of his fingers. “Perhaps an hour or two at most if you bring Roach.” Geralt nodded in response, watching is Regis siphoned off the top layer of liquid and decanted it into a small metal cup. He swirled the contents of the cup idly, causing it to produce more of the strange vapour. 

“We’re leaving soon then?” Geralt asked, placing his swords back into their scabbards. 

“Yes, better to leave sooner rather than later. This will only keep for so long.” Regis gestured to the vial. “It need only cool down a little.” 

“Great.” Geralt smiled uneasily. He fidgeted with his potions belt, making sure he had everything he needed, and added a black blood, just in case.

“So, uh, how do you want to do this?” Geralt asked after a moment. 

“Hmm? Do what?” Regis asked, looking up from his workbench. “Oh.” he sighed, taking in Geralt's apprehensive expression. “I can find an adequate substitute if you'd rather not…” He hesitated for a moment. “I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable, my friend.” Regis looked away, considering his options. 

“No, it's not that.” Geralt said quickly. “It's just… I've never… This is the first time I’ve been a consenting party in this situation.” He laughed. Regis smiled kindly, leaning against his workbench. 

“It will never cease to amaze me Geralt, the lengths you'll go to to help a friend.” 

“You're one to talk.” Geralt replied. 

“I suppose you're right.” Regis said, testing the temperature of the cup again and nodding to himself. “Perhaps that is why we get along so well.” 

Geralt opened his mouth to respond as Regis picked up the cup and drank it. He hunched over the workbench and let out a shuddering breath. 

“You okay?” Geralt asked with concern. 

“The bouquet leaves much to be desired.” Regis grimaced, placing the cup down next to the used stew bowls. He walked back over to the table and perched on the edge of it next to Geralt. 

“So are we doing this before we leave, or when we get there?” Geralt asked, failing to disguise the trepidation in his voice. 

“Before we leave would be best.” Regis smiled comfortingly. “The blood will need to have begun wearing off by the time we’ve navigated the ruins.” 

“Well, hopefully we have more success than the last time you were drunk in a ruined fortress.” Geralt chuckled. 

“I honestly don't see how it could go much worse.” Regis replied, folding his arms. 

“How much will it affect you?” Geralt asked. “Don't much fancy fighting my way through whatever’s moved in while holding you upright.” 

“Not quite that bad.” Regis laughed at the image it conjured. “But that depends on how much blood you think you can spare?” 

“Uhh…” Geralt considered it for a moment, thinking back on some of his more significant injuries and how they impacted him. “Maybe three pints?” he suggested. “I would give you more, but I'll have to fight when we get there. My metabolism should be able to recover some of that on the way, I'll just have to adjust my potions to keep my toxicity down.” Regis raised his eyebrows. 

“Are you sure? That's quite a lot.” he said. “A lot for you to remain standing afterwards, in any case.” he added. 

“It's fine Regis.” Geralt replied. “I've suffered worse.” 

“I'd rather you didn't suffer at all by my hand.” Regis sighed. They were silent for a moment. 

The fire beneath the cauldron had burned low and begun to spit. Neither of them noticed the darkening of the room until the crack of an ember sent sparks shooting out of the hearth. 

“So, should we..?” Geralt gestured between himself and Regis. 

“I suppose we should. I hadn't thought this far ahead.” Regis admitted. 

“That's okay. How long until your potion kicks in?” Geralt asked. 

“It's already beginning to.” Regis answered, idly looking down at his hands. 

The bitter taste of his decoction lingered on his tongue, becoming deeper and more nuanced with every passing moment, but remaining just as unpleasant. The subtle smell of herbs wafting over from the remnants of their meal were being magnified tenfold, along with wood-smoke from the dying fire, and the damp, moss covered crypt walls. Even the smell of his own herby cologne lingering on his clothes, something that he’d stopped noticing years ago, was almost overpowering. It was as if he was walking into the room for the first time and experiencing it all over again. On top of it all, was the mix of aromas coming from Geralt. 

For someone who usually smelled almost exclusively of horse and leather, he was picking up so many more subtleties from the Witcher. The scent of the oils he used on his swords leached into his clothing and hair, with an undertone of sweat. Although this was less so now than when they had travelled with the Hansa, Regis noted. Probably due to Geralt actually owning a bathtub now. It was accompanied by something floral, like rose or peony. Both popular ingredients in the heavily fragranced soaps produced in Beauclair. The whole mix that was so quintessentially Geralt was all but drowned out by the iron-y tang of the blood that had dried onto Geralt's shirt sleeve from the slowly healing wound below. It hadn't been that much, but it was enough that Regis could barely focus on anything else. 

“Regis, you okay?” Geralt's voice pulled him back into the present with a start. “You're looking a bit...” Geralt trailed off. 

Regis took a deep breath and ran his hand over his face. If he were sat with anyone else, anyone other than Geralt, he knew his apprentice would have sent them running if they gave him any more than a cursory glance. He turned his face away anyway, so that Geralt wouldn't see the way his eyes darkened or his breathing deepened. 

“Yes, I'm quite alright.” he said after a moment, regaining his composure. 

“If you say so…” Geralt said, regarding Regis with a raised eyebrow. Regis gave a tight-lipped smile in response, his eyes glinting strangely in the firelight. “Shall we get this over with?” Geralt asked, dragging Regis back to reality. 

“Yes. Yes, of course my friend” Regis replied, coming back to himself. “Come with me.” 

Regis led Geralt from the main chamber into a smaller side room. It was lit by a single candle perched on a small table by the arched doorway. There was a small shelf along the side wall, containing several well worn tomes, and a dark leather bound journal. A low bed rested against the far wall, draped with threadbare but comfortable looking woollen blankets. 

Geralt let out a bark of laughter. 

“Regis, you're such a hypocrite.” 

“How so?” Regis replied, visibly confused. 

“You once told me,  _ at length _ , that vampires are overly sexualised by humans, and yet here you are, leading me to your bed.” Geralt explained. Regis rolled his eyes. 

“Back then I'm sure I would have indulged in a lengthy discussion about the uncalled for fetishisation of my entire species, but recently I've not had the energy for such things.” Regis sighed. “Besides, this is the guest room.” 

“The guest room? You live in a crypt!” Geralt choked out, laughing in earnest. 

“This is purely a matter of practicality.” Regis replied. “If you should faint and injure yourself it would delay our departure.”

“If I should faint…” Geralt repeated, laughing heartily. “What do you take me for?” 

“A sudden drop in blood pressure can produce unpredictable results.” Regis admonished him. 

“You'd know, I suppose.” Geralt relented. He perused the bookshelf, idly running his finger across the fraying spines, browsing titles. “Fauna of the Northern Realms; Volume One and Two, Royal Lineages of the North, The Conjunction of Spheres… just some light bedtime reading?” Geralt joked, still browsing through the others. He pulled out a tome printed with the words  _ The Merry Adventures Of Muriel The Lovely Harlot  _ and flicked through the pages. “Huh. Illustrated edition?” He looked to Regis with a raised eyebrow. Regis regarded him with a wry smile, crossing his arms. 

“You know Geralt, if I didn't know you better I'd accuse you of stalling.” Regis said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Geralt chuckled, returning the book to its place on the shelf. Chronologically by publication date, Geralt noticed.  _ How very Regis _ . 

“What do you need me to do?” Geralt asked, turning away from the books. 

“Not much.” Regis said. “Just sit.” he patted the straw stuffed mattress beside him. “Keeping still would be a bonus.” He gave Geralt a tight lipped smile as the witcher sat down beside him. “If you wish for me to stop you need only tell me.” 

Geralt nodded, attempting to sit comfortably. 

“Alright, let's get this over with. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can finish the resonance and find Detlaff.” he said, giving Regis a barely perceptible nod to continue. 

“I agree.” Regis hummed. He reached out and gently touched Geralt’s jaw, tilting it to expose his neck. “I'll be as quick as I can be.” 

Geralt took a deep breath as he felt Regis lean into him, preparing himself for the pain that was inevitably to come. He reflexively grabbed Regis' shoulder as the vampire's teeth sank into the flesh at the base of his neck like a hot knife through butter. Thankfully Regis had avoided his jugular, though being a barber-surgeon Regis no doubt knew what a mess he would've made. Geralt was pleasantly surprised however when the initial pain ebbed away, leaving nothing but a faint tingling in its wake. 

Usually by this point Geralt was trying to pry off whatever was biting him. He relaxed into Regis' grip in the hopes that his mind would stop screaming at him to fight what was happening. After a moment it did, but he wasn't sure whether that was actually because he was more at ease or just the blood loss affecting him. His grip on Regis' shoulder loosened as a wave of dizziness hit him, and he was powerless to stop it. His vision was going dark around the edges as he felt his hand slip from his friend's shoulder, and he began to think that Regis’ concerns that he might faint might've been based on experience rather than friendly concern. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever Kudos, comments, and con-crit all welcome! You can also find me on tumblr @bagginsgotdabooty if anyone wanted to talk to me over there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I love a good dream sequence. 
> 
> Translations are provided in the end notes for the conversation between Regis and Dettlaff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning, this chapter does contain a flashback to Regis's youth. So if people (and children) being killed by vampires is gonna make you uncomfortable do feel free to skip this one. Let me know if you do and I can give you a summary in the comments or smthin if you still want to know the important points. 
> 
> The above also applies to a surgery scene, although it is not described to any great depth.

_ Geralt awoke with a start, although he knew he wasn't awake at all, and this was likely some figment of his adrenaline addled mind. It seemed as though he had been sleeping at Regis’ table, as he had been earlier that day. The main room of the mausoleum looked the same as it ever did, though it was lit strangely, as if from a source he couldn't see. No fire burned in the hearth, and all the candles and lanterns were extinguished. Regis’ workbench was neatly clean and tidy, a complete juxtaposition from the state it was in just moments ago. It was as if the vampire was simply not home, and hadn't been for quite some time. As he was examining the room for anything out of place, he caught sight of a shadow flitting across a doorway in the corner of his eye. He sighed, rising from the table and moving to follow it.  _

_ “Regis?” he called out. Silence answered him. Geralt walked slowly down the corridor the shadow had disappeared down. He’d walked through most of the mausoleum when he first arrived, having had to enter it from the caverns underneath, but this place seemed utterly unfamiliar to him. No doubt some trick of his subconscious, he thought. A door stood ajar up ahead, a thin beam of pale light shone through, alighting on the wall opposite. Geralt approached and pushed it open. He was surprised to find that it led straight outside among the gravestones, though he knew it couldn't be possible as he was still deep underground. _

_ It was nighttime in the scene before him. Sitting right in front of him, lounging on fallen gravestones, were himself and Regis. Regis and the…  _ other him _ were engaged in rapt conversation, laughing about something that Geralt couldn't quite make out from so far away. They passed a single bottle of Regis’ moonshine between them, and Geralt realised that this might have only been the first or second time he’d ever seen Regis drink alcohol. They both seemed happy. Geralt thought that this bore some similarity to the night he had spent in the graveyard with Regis when they were first reunited, but he couldn't be sure. _

_ As he was about to step through, he heard distinct footsteps from further down the corridor. He moved away, casting one last glance over the scene, savouring his and Regis’ genuine smiles.  _

_ “C’mon Regis.” Geralt called in the direction of the footsteps. “Wait up!” When he received no answer he grumbled quietly and followed the sound. They died off as Geralt reached the end of the corridor and turned the corner.  _

_ He was faced with an equally long and dark hallway, sparsely lit by a few candles burning low half way down. He walked toward them, checking alcoves and other shadowy corners for the source of the footsteps, though he found nothing. He knew if it was Regis there would be no finding him if he didn't want to be found.  _

_ As he got closer he realised the candle light was spilling out from a narrow archway, leading to an adjoining room. The architecture seemed off, fitting in more with a wine cellar than a mausoleum. One wall was lined with huge barrels in wooden racking, and a twisting wooden staircase led upwards in the back corner. Other than that, the room was filled with home comforts. There were bookcases filed with tomes, a large writing desk, and a wide bed against the opposite wall. As he peered inside he was again shocked to see a scene playing out before him. _

_ Someone sat at the bottom of the stairs. _ Dettlaff _. Geralt recognised him after a moment. He was lounging against the bannister talking animatedly to a second figure sitting in the bed. Geralt realised with horror that the second figure was Regis, but he was almost waiflike. He was nothing but skin and bone, and was deathly pale. It couldn't have been long after the events at Stygga Castle, Geralt thought. He listened intently to their conversation, though they seemed to be speaking in a mixture of the common tongue and some other language that Geralt had never heard. From the jist of it, it sounded like Dettlaff was talking about someone, a woman he liked? Geralt couldn't really tell.  _

_ Dettlaff seemed to ask Regis a question as he rose from the stairs, to which Regis nodded eagerly. Dettlaff passed Regis a piece of parchment from the pocket of his coat as he scooped up a stack of books sitting on the bedside table and returned them haphazardly to the bookcase. He pulled out a few different tomes and deposited them on the corner of the bed. Dettlaff turned and walked toward the arch Geralt was standing in, throwing a satchel that was slung over his shoulder onto the desk as he went.  _

_ “Dettlaff!” Regis called. Dettlaff stopped mere feet from Geralt and turned back. “Kri ica?” Regis asked, holding up the parchment that Dettlaff had given him. Sketched on it in charcoal was a wonderfully realised portrait of a woman.  _

_ “Etnam, Regis.” Dettlaff smiled, continuing on toward Geralt. As he reached the archway Geralt backed away instinctively to let him pass, but as soon as Dettlaff reached the door frame he dissipated into thick smoke, blocking Geralt's view of the room inside.  _

_ After a moment the fog cleared and Geralt found himself looking upon a different scene. The room was the same, but this time it was lit by shafts of sunlight streaming in from gaps in the roof. Regis was alone this time, and sat at the writing desk. He looked much more like himself than before, but there were still dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks were a touch too hollow. He wore a simple grey tunic and dark breeches. He was focused intently on a piece of parchment that he clutched in his hands. Geralt could hear him reading from it quietly, though he couldn’t see his friend's lips moving.  _

_ “ _ Regis, 

I have gone to Beauclair to tend to some pressing business. I’m unsure when I will return. Please do not follow me, I do not wish for you to become embroiled in any unpleasantness. You may be strong enough to fend for yourself, but I don’t wish any harm to come to you.

Yours,

Dettlaff _.” _

_ Regis folded the page and slipped it into the pocket of a jacket that was hanging from the back of the chair he sat in.  _

_ “Oh, Dettlaff.” Regis sighed, definitely out loud this time. “What have you gotten yourself into.” He shook his head, and after a moment stood and threw the jacket over his shoulders. He grabbed a satchel that rested against the leg of the bed and turned into a familiar fog that ascended toward the ceiling and wormed its way through the sun filled cracks, throwing the room before Geralt into darkness.  _

_ Geralt heard muffled voices coming from up ahead, so set off again down the winding corridor with a sinking feeling that he was being led by something.  _

_ At the end of the corridor there stood a large window. The surface of the glass was wet with what looked like rain, and it was cold to the touch. Inside, the window was curtained with rich red velvet drapes, and after a moment Geralt recognised the room beyond as the quarters he’d shared the Beauclair palace with the Hansa. The décor was extravagant, with a pair of armchairs and a chaise longue to match the curtains, and a garishly bright deep-pile rug in the center of the room. A fire burned away merrily in the wide fireplace, stoked by a figure Geralt though he would never see again.  _

_ Cahir returned the fire poker to the hearth and leant against the mantle. Across from him in one of the armchairs sat an equally familiar woman, and Geralt felt his heart twist with grief as he looked at her. Milva sat sharpening her arrowheads, laughing along with whatever Cahir was saying. _

_ Two familiar silhouettes were huddled together on the chaise longue. Regis reclined with a book held open in his hand, though it looked like he’d long forgotten he was reading it, and the small form of Angoulême napped, curled up at his side with her head in his lap. His hand idly carded through her hair, working out the tangles as he watched Milva admonishing Cahir for something.  _

_ As Geralt stood at the window and watched, his palm on the glass and tears in his eyes, the main door swung open and hit the mantle with a loud bang. Angoulême grumbled and shifted at the sound. Before anyone could react, Geralt saw a younger version of himself step through the door, wearing armour he’d gotten rid of long ago, and wearing a leather headband around his head. Dandelion followed him in and shut the door again behind him. Both of them carried bottles of wine, and the bard had a thick set of cards clutched to his chest, and his lute slung over his shoulder.  _

_ They were greeted enthusiastically and Cahir clapped his hand on Dandelion’s shoulder, guiding him over to an armchair, looking almost afraid he’d disappear if he let go. Regis shook Angoulême awake, and she slid across the sofa to make space for Geralt, who was currently prying off his cuirass with promises to return once he was changed. He headed off into one of the adjoining rooms.  _

_ Geralt remembered this night. He’d just finished clearing a vineyard of a particularly nasty archespore infestation, and had been paid handsomely for it. On his way back he found Dandelion moping around the palace entrance hall, apparently lost for purpose due to ‘His little weasel being caught up in meetings all day and night’. Geralt had dragged him off to the kitchens, where he had exchanged some of his hard earned coin for the staff to turn a blind eye to the plundering of the wine cellar, and brought him back to their friends quarters in the hopes he’d stay long enough to remember they existed. They’d sat up together all night playing cards and talking. It was one of those rare quiet moments that came to Geralt so infrequently, and one of the last he would spend with the Hansa before they left Toussaint.  _

_ He stepped away, sparing one last longing glance at his long gone friends, and turned his attention back to the dark hallway. He continued his walk before something prompted him to, fearing that if he didn’t he would’ve stood there all night watching a fond memory play out. Up ahead, he saw a beam of warm light spilling from a crack in the wall.  _

_ As he neared, he realised what he was actually looking at was a keyhole. It belonged to a richly carved oak door, which stood out against its drab stony surroundings. He heard quiet voices from within, followed by a high pitched giggle. He frowned, stooping to peer through the keyhole.  _

_ It was another, different room in the palace, this time a bedroom. Candles burned low and lit the room with a dim amber glow, a dying fire burned its last in the hearth, and moonlight streamed in from an open window. The bright Beauclair sky could be seen beyond, it’s shimmering stars framing a cloudless full moon almost like a painting. Two figures sat on a narrow sofa at the foot of the bed. They were talking softly. Geralt recognised Regis' silhouette against the light from the window. He looked different, as he had when they were last in Toussaint. His hair was longer and he looked just a little less world weary. In his lap was sat someone Geralt didn’t recognise, a Succubus, he realised after a moment. Regis muttered something to her, too low and quiet for Geralt to make out. She giggled again as Regis kissed her cheek, and reached down to capture his mouth with her own.  _

_ Geralt looked away, backing away from the door, not wanting to intrude on whatever was going on in there. He continued on down the hallway, the succubus’s laughter occasionally echoed after him, but it was becoming quieter as he got further away.  _

_ Suddenly shouts echoed from up ahead, drowning out the voices coming from the previous scene. Geralt hurried onwards as the left side of the corridor opened into a large room with white walls and a vaulted ceiling. He realised after a moment that this wasn’t a room at all, but a tent. Low cots lined the walls and several long wooden tables stood in the center. By the tables were racks of all manner of surgical tools and instruments. People hurried around, none of whom Geralt recognised, attending to people sitting and, in some cases, lying on the cots. They were soldiers, and this was a field hospital, Geralt realised. There were no distinguishing markings on the armour of the injured, or on the uniforms of the surgeons and nurses. Geralt could hear the cry of voices and the clash of steel far in the distance.  _

_ He started as two men stumbled through the tent door. A nurse attended them quickly, calling over someone more senior looking. The surgeon took one look at them and immediately ushered them over to the table closest to Geralt, helping the uninjured man lift his wounded friend up onto it.  _

_ “Emiel!” The surgeon called one of his colleagues over, who up until now had his back to Geralt. “Emiel, come and help me with this.” As the man turned, Geralt was surprised to recognise him. It was Regis, but many, many years younger. There was barely a hint of the dark circles that usually framed his eyes, and not a single crease in his brow. His hair was jet black, and curled as it fell to his shoulders. The surgeon ushered the uninjured soldier away and out of the tent as Regis put down the herbs he was grinding and poured a clear liquid over his hands.  _

_ “How can I help, Mattieu?” Regis asked, smiling with his teeth, but quickly closing his mouth a moment later. The man on the table moaned weakly as blood began to pool beneath him.  _

_ “You tell me.” Mattieu said, regarding Regis with an appraising look.  _

_ “Oh, uhm…” Geralt had never seen Regis unsure in his life, so this was certainly a new experience. “He’s got multiple head contusions, so he likely lost his helmet. The left shoulder is dislocated, so was probably a shield user too. There are a few surface wounds, but the majority of the blood loss was from this stomach wound. However, there’s this gash on the thigh that’s also exceptionally deep... Perhaps it’s nicked an artery?”  _

_ “A great post-mortem Emiel, but this man is still alive.”  _

_ “Am- am I going to die?” The man on the table asked weekly, clutching at the front of Mattieu’s apron.  _

_ “Not if we can help it.” He smiled kindly, detaching the man's hand from his front. “Now why don’t you get some rest, hmm?  _ Go to sleep _.” There was a strange look in the surgeon’s eyes, and the injured soldier immediately dropped off to sleep. Huh. Another vampire. Geralt thought, regarding him with a whole new light.  _

_ “We should first investigate his stomach wound, and see if there is any more serious internal damage…?” Regis said, looking hopeful.  _

_ “Good start, we can do that as he bleeds out from his femoral artery.” Mattieu admonished.  _

_ “Okay, point taken. Perhaps I should stitch that first then?” Regis tried. Mattieu had his hand on the man’s wrist, clearly taking his pulse.  _

_ “That may take too long.” Mattieu explained. “Personally I would tightly bandage it to prevent some of the blood loss and come back to it later.” _

_ “I can see where you're coming from… but in Doctor Jenner’s lectures he says we should never start a job and leave it unfinished.” Regis said, grabbing a roll of bandages and some surgical tools from one of the nearby racks.  _

_ “You're not in Doctor Jenner’s lectures, Emiel. You're in a field hospital.” Mattieu explained. “And this man has only a few moments before the effects of exsanguination will be irreversible.” Regis nodded along, tightly wrapping a bandage around the mans still oozing thigh. “All the lectures in the world cannot prepare you for the reality of working in a place like this.”  _

_ “I agree. I think perhaps I’ll learn more here in the field than I ever would have back in Oxenfurt.” Regis smiled. Moving on to examine the soldiers stomach wound.  _

_ Geralt watched with avid fascination as the two surgeons patched up the soldier to the best of their abilities. Though he noticed that Regis’ movements were nowhere near as practiced and steady as he was accustomed to. This must've been early on in his career as a barber surgeon. He could have happily stood there until the man was fully bandaged and soundly escorted from death's door.  _

_ A dark mist coalesced around him as it moved down the corridor, solidifying into a shadowy figure just as it began to turn the corner. Geralt sighed and jogged after it, the familiar smell of wormwood and cinnamon lingered in its wake.  _

_ “Regis!” Geralt called as he rounded the corner. He watched as a hazy apparition of his friend as he had been in his younger years paused some way down the hallway. This Regis seemed to acknowledge Geralt for the first time, looking at him impassively for a moment as he stood with his hand on an ornate doorknob. The figure seemed to pin Geralt to the spot with his gaze. It was the same Regis that Geralt knew well, but the years had fallen away from his face, his clothes were hundreds of years out of fashion, and was that… eyeliner he was wearing? Geralt's eyebrows almost reached his hairline in surprise. Regis’ long, dark hair fluttered in some unfelt breeze. Geralt noticed crimson stains on the vampires collar and fingers, leaving a dark trail across the door as he looked away from Geralt and pushed it open, stepping inside.  _

_ The door creaked closed behind him. Muffled voices came from within, followed by raucous laughter. Gealrt approached the door, noticing that the blood smear had already dried and turned a dark brown in the seconds since it had been left there. The door was closed, and this time featured no keyhole to peer through. Geralt thought for a moment, wondering if opening it might be intruding, and whether he should just walk in the opposite direction. _

_ He concluded after a moment that he couldn't possibly intrude on someone in his own dreams, so twisted the door handle and let it swing open. The sight that met his eyes shocked him, though he wasn't quite sure why. He had always known that Regis had had a misspent youth.  _

_ Before him was a parlour, candlelit and richly furnished, but not so extravagant as the previous one from the palace. Wide double doors stood open against the rear wall, leading out onto a large moonit balcony. A wide sofa and matching armchairs sat in the center of the room, accompanied by other mismatched pieces of furniture that looked like they’d been brought from different rooms to accommodate more guests. The parlor was filled with people Geralt didn't recognise...  _ vampires _ he didn't recognise. All of whom were dressed in a similar fashion to the figure of Regis that he had seen.  _

_ A man with slicked back blonde hair sat in an armchair by the fireplace talking animatedly with a redheaded woman in a long black dress, while a human in a roughspun tunic laid at their feet. What was left of his blood slowly trickled out onto the mahogany floor.  _

_ After looking for a moment, Geralt recognised Regis. He was lounging on a wide armchair, with one leg thrown over the armrest and a human woman draped across him. His mouth was on her neck and his eyes were closed. Two women sat on a narrow sofa closeby with their hands intertwined. One of them smiled as she bounced a human boy on her lap in some twisted mirror of a mother and child. Tears stained his face as he looked between the man on the floor and the woman sprawled unmoving against Regis’ chest. _

_ Black shapes rushed past the window and a sudden gust blew in, rustling the drapes. A scream echoed up from the street below and a few seconds later laughter drifted in from the balcony.  _

_ Regis sighed as he lifted his head, loosening his grip on the woman. Her limp body slid off of him onto the floor.  _

_ “Emiel!” the redheaded woman tutted. “You're getting blood on the bergère!”  _

_ “Orianna my dear, it was already red.” Regis replied with a smile, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m merely embellishing it.” His blood stained teeth sent a shiver down Geralt's spine, even in the face of the dark amusement he felt as Regis pulled out a handkerchief with an exaggerated flourish and dabbed at the blood that was soaking into the velvet of his chair.  _

_ “What’s that? Your fourth?” Orianna admonished him. “I take it you and Cecilia are fighting again?” Regis didn't answer, instead choosing to gaze out onto the balcony forlornly.  _

_ “I thought as much.” Orianna said quietly. “Have you considered talking to her instead of drowning your sorrows with us?”  _

_ “I don't see the point.” Regis sighed “She’ll only be upset with me about something else next week.”  _

_ “Well, that’s your business.” Orianna said, dropping the subject. “I can only offer you advice.”  _

_ “Yeah.” Regis sighed, shoving aside the body that laid beside his chair with his foot as he rose to his feet. “I’m going to get another drink, do you want anything?” he asked.  _

_ “Hmmm, I could go for something young.. But I'm sure I'll be content with whatever you find” Orianna said with a smile. Regis nodded and walked over to the balcony, disappearing in a burst of black smoke and dark leathery wings.  _

_ As soon as Regis left, the image before Geralt began to darken as the candles winked out, leaving him staring into a dark and empty room. He felt himself being pulled from his dream as if he was waking from a long night's sleep.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever Kudos, comments, and con-crit all welcome! You can also find me on tumblr @bagginsgotdabooty if anyone wanted to talk to me over there.
> 
> Notes on Regis and Dettlaff’s literal 3 word conversion. 
> 
> I took inspiration for these two from some of my Polish friends who moved to the UK when they were young, and now speak to each other in a fascinating mix of Polish and English words. (I feel like Dettlaff and Regis might be similar as they're like second generation conjunction victims...)
> 
> **Game Spoilers Ahead** (and also a big ol' linguistics info-dump)  
> When Regis goes to see the Unseen Elder if you go down that path, they speak in Etruscan, which is a dead language that's believed to be the precursor to Latin, though we only know a few hundred words of it. 
> 
> "Kri ica?" Kri - You created // Ica - this  
> I went with the word order for late Etruscan which is subject verb object, rather than the ancient order which is subject object verb, honestly as a native English speaker this is the one that I thought would translate the best for the reader. (I also found 'Tesen' meaning 'I draw' but I wasn't sure how to conjugate this properly :( )
> 
> I could not for the life of me find any words for yes or no, so as Etruscan is the precursor to Latin I’m assuming it is similar in that it has no direct yes or no, and uses adverbs and echo responses instead to express these sentiments. Since I’m pretty sure 'Ita' in Latin, meaning 'and', is used as a yes response (thanks duolingo) I've mirrored this in Etruscan by using 'Etnam', also meaning 'and'. 
> 
> This took like an hour and a half of research, if you want to see more of this let me know and I'll add some here and there because its fun, but I'm not sure it really adds much more impact for the amount of research it takes for me to cobble together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this chapter finished, I don't have a good excuse.  
> Big Thank to my beta reader Seb for channelling their inner Regis and helping me with this chapter <3 Find them at SebDoesWords.

_Regis suppressed a groan as he bit down into Geralt's neck. Blood welled up beneath the points of his razor sharp fangs. He felt Geralt tense and the witcher's hand came up to grab his shoulder. For a moment Regis considered stopping, pulling away and checking on his friend, but he knew he couldn't. Not after so long. Not when Geralt sat before him offering his blood freely. Regis felt the cracks appearing in his long standing resolve, and concluded that he may as well enjoy this while it lasted, though he hated himself for it._

_After a moment Geralt leaned into him. Regis responded by winding an arm around Geralt's shoulders, holding him up as if he weighed nothing. Stopping was not something that even crossed his mind as he lost himself almost entirely to his instincts. Regis held Geralt in this embrace for what felt like an hour, but in reality was only mere moments, filled not by conscious thought but dopamine and a reeling sense of nostalgia._

_He was brought back to reality by the sensation of Geralt's grip on his shoulder loosening. Regis hooked an arm around Geralt’s waist, unwilling to let go of him just yet. Geralt's hand finally slipped down to lay prone on the bed next to them, and he became a dead weight in Regis’ arms._

_Regis fought with himself. His morals and concern for his friend finally outweighed the ever increasing need to drink the witcher dry. He pulled his mouth away, running his tongue over the bite a final time. He laid Geralt down onto the bed, breathing heavily, and took a moment to regain his composure. Geralt rested prone beside him, blood ran freely from the wound in his neck and began soaking into his hair, staining it a deep crimson._

_Regis noticed this belatedly as he came back to himself. He grabbed some bandages from one of his nearby medical satchels and hastily folded them into a compress. He pulled Geralt's head into his lap and held the fabric firmly against the Witcher's neck as he began to stir._

XXX

Geralt had no idea how long had passed when he noticed that Regis’ mouth was no longer on his neck, and he was laid down with his head on something warm. 

“-Geralt?” Regis was talking to him, Geralt noticed after a moment, and something was being pressed firmly to his neck. 

“Hmm… what?” Geralt mumbled, looking up at Regis through hazy eyes. Regis was frowning, searching Geralt's face for any sign of distress. Traces of blood still coated his lips, forgotten in his preoccupation with Geralt's wellbeing. His hand shook ever so slightly as he brushed an errant hair from Geralt's brow. 

“How are you feeling?” Regis asked, taking in his friend’s pallid face and unfocused gaze. 

“I-” Geralt ran a hand over his face, grateful for the fact he was horizontal. “I’m fine.” He sighed. “Just a little… foggy?” 

“Well, that's to be expected.” Regis smiled kindly, gingerly lifting the compress from the Witcher’s neck, only to push it back down a second later. “I’m afraid this may take a little while to stop bleeding. Vampire saliva contains a mild anti-coagulant.”

“Great.” Geralt sighed, raising himself into a sitting position. He grimaced as the world spun around him. “I think I need a few minutes anyway.” 

“Wholly understandable.” Regis nodded, placing Geralt's hand over the compress and removing his own. 

“Did you… Did you use your vampire hypnotism thing?” Geralt asked, pressing down firmly on the compress as he gestured vaguely with his other hand. 

“Not that I am aware of.” Regis said, rapidly digging through Geralt’s potion belt. “You did consent of your own accord, did you not?” 

“Yeah, it's not that.” Geralt said quickly. “Just… saw some things when I was, well, unconscious. I’ve gotta say, that's a weird feeling for a witcher.”

“Curious.” Regis mused, passing Geralt a Swallow potion. “It could be that I did it without realising. Though I am loath to admit it, my instincts did take over for a moment there.”

“Let's talk about it later.” Geralt said, shoving back another wave of nausea as he downed the potion. “Did you get what you needed?”

“I did.” Regis replied, getting up from the bed. “We can leave whenever you are ready.” 

Geralt nodded. He let the empty bottle fall onto the bed and covered his eyes with his free hand as the room spun again. 

XXX

Geralt had more or less recovered a few moments later, having thrown his sword onto his back and announced that they should get going. He followed Regis down the winding passageways that led out of the crypt. He watched the way that Regis stepped as sure as ever, not betraying a single sign that he was less sober than usual. 

“How long does it take for blood to kick in?” Geralt asked. “Wouldn't want you taking a tumble into a ditch on our way.” 

“It already has.” Regis replied. “Please, Geralt. I was a functioning blood addict for longer than you've been alive. I doubt you'd even notice.”

Regis pushed open the mausoleum door with a creak and stepped out into the night. The moon hung high above in the sky, casting its cold light down onto the graveyard below, illuminating the tombstones with an eerie beauty. A raven cawed in the distance and the quiet beat of wings broke through the chirping of crickets and the rustling of trees. The bird alighted on a nearby gravestone, looking at Regis with a tilt of its head and a low croak. 

“Looks like you have a visitor.” Geralt said, lingering back near the door so he didn’t startle the bird. 

“It would seem so.” Regis said, approaching the raven and greeting it in a low mumble. They conversed for a moment. Geralt couldn't make out words in the raven’s quiet cawing, but neither could he hear any in Regis’ whispers. Finally Regis nodded to the bird, scratching it lightly beneath the beak, and gave it something from his pocket. Geralt regarded him with a raised eyebrow as the vampire turned back to face him. 

“Anything important?” Geralt asked, pushing away from the mausoleum wall where he had been leaning. 

“Only that we should continue on to Tesham Mutna without delay.” Regis explained. “Though he does not wish to be found, it appears that Dettlaff also has eyes and ears in the right places.'' Regis cast a furtive glance over the treeline that fenced in the cemetery. 

“You mean he's talking to the birds too?” Geralt asked, glaring daggers up into the trees.

“No my friend, these birds serve me. Dettlaff has more of an affinity with our own kind. If we do not hurry I don’t doubt that he’ll send some of them to delay us.” 

“Don't think they could slow us down too much.” Geralt mused, leading Regis over to where he had left Roach to graze in the cemetery. 

“I’m inclined to agree.” Regis said, offering a hand to Roach as she snorted and regarded him warily. “Though I would rather not be forced to harm those caught in the middle of our spat.” 

Geralt hummed in agreement as he climbed into the saddle. 

“Do you have a horse?” Geralt asked after a moment. “Or will you just be running alongside?” He laughed at the image it conjured. 

“Please Geralt, nothing so undignified.” Regis smiled. He looked at home in the midst of the graveyard, in the dead of the night, with his too-sharp smile. “Head south, I’ll be right behind you.” He vanished into a dark mist which swirled around itself before dissipating and mixing with the low ground fog that had begun to roll in as the temperature dropped. 

“Huh.” Geralt mused, directing Roach toward the cemetery gates. 

He rode south for what felt like an hour or two, occasionally seeing a dark mist coiling in his peripheries. Eventually he reached a branching crossroad, and was completely at a loss for which way to go. Three paths lay before him, one carrying on straight, and the others branching left and right. He paused for a moment, looking for a signpost. The only thing he found was darkness, and an eerie howling in the distance.

“Regis?” Geralt called after a moment. The only thing that greeted him was the sound of the howling again, closer this time. “Shit.” His hand flew to his silver sword. “Regis!?” He called again, this time more urgently. 

“Take the left path.” Regis had suddenly materialised beside him. Another high pitched howl broke through the night. “Don’t worry about that, you carry on. I’ll see if I can find out what it is. It sounds familiar.” 

“What do you mean ‘It sounds familiar.’!?” Geralt said, still not dropping his hand from his sword. 

“It’s a lesser vampire, definitely. I can probably persuade it to leave without bloodshed, as long as it does not lay eyes on you.” He explained hurriedly. “Now go! I’ll find you.”

“Fine.” Geralt sighed, watching as Regis disappeared back into the darkness. 

He urged Roach into a gallop down the left fork, hoping Regis was successful with whatever he was planning. He didn't have to ride for very long before he was met with a dark figure bursting forth from the trees and blocking the road ahead. He pulled Roach to a stop and jumped down, drawing his silver sword. He took in the creature's long claws and slouching posture, and had no doubt that it was an Ekimmara. Though it was smaller than others he’d seen, so perhaps a fledgling. 

It growled and launched itself toward him as he reached for his potion belt, giving him no time to prepare as it closed the gap between them. He swung his sword in a haphazard arc in front of him as the creature leapt, hoping to keep it away from him as he stumbled backwards into Roach. His sword made contact with something and was pulled from his hand as Roach snorted and pushed him back upright with her head. He reached for his other sword as he looked back to the ekimmara. 

He found with horror that it wasn't the monster that he had hit, but Regis, who had leapt in front of him at the last second. He was gripping the creature tightly and cooing something in a familiar language that Geralt didn't understand. Geralt's sword was still hanging from where it had struck Regis in the shoulder. If the vampire noticed it was there, he didn't show it. After a moment the ekimmara began purring and Regis set it down. 

“Regis?” Geralt said, once the creature looked like it wasn't going to immediately attack him. “What's going on? Are you okay?” 

“I am fine, Geralt. Although I'd appreciate it if you could remove your sword from my back.” He gestured at the foot or so of the blade sticking through the front of his chest. 

“Uh… sure…'' Geralt reached forward and gingerly pulled his silver sword from his friend's shoulder with a wet squelch. Regis winced. “You really should stop throwing yourself into the middle of other people’s fights.” Geralt mused, looking pointedly at the many patches on Regis’ gambeson. 

“And let my friends come to harm?” Regis retorted. “Most certainly not!” 

“Friends?” Geralt asked, looking down at the young ekimmara, which now sat patiently by Regis’ feet. It had barely come past his waist when standing and now Geralt noticed just how young it must be. Regis’ hand rested on its head, idly scratching it behind the ears. 

“Dettlaff raised her. He calls her Reva.” Regis explained. “She's only a few years old, not nearly fully grown. He kept her as something akin to a pet when I was staying with him.”

“He sent it after us?” Geralt asked at length, still wary of the monster that Regis seemed to view as a beloved companion. 

“It is more likely that he sent her to track us, and she got distracted. Forgive me, but the scent of blood still surrounds you.” Regis explained. Geralt nodded. “It's unlikely that Dettlaff would have put her in harm's way. He did always have a soft spot for her.” Regis gave the ekimmara a small smile. “I'm honestly surprised he left her out of his sight at all.”

“What should we do with her?” Geralt asked, finally remembering to wipe the blood from his sword and sheath it. 

“We’re only a mile or so from our destination. We could easily walk the distance with her and leave her with Roach while we enter the ruins.” Regis suggested. 

“Not so sure about that…” Geralt said, sharing a look with his horse. 

“While she is at times easily distracted, she is otherwise well trained,” Regis assured him. “Though if it offers you peace of mind, she could be left to roam the forest nearby until we are finished.”

“Yeah, that sounds better.” Geralt said, taking Roach's reins in his hand and leading her further down the path. Regis followed beside him and Reva clung to his heels. 

The trees swayed and rustled in the breeze, casting long shadows across the road with their branches. Geralt noticed that the vampires he walked beside pointedly cast none, even when his and Roach's were clearly visible. 

“So, where did Dettlaff get an ekimmara fledgling?” Geralt asked curiously. 

“She was the runt of her litter.” Regis explained. “He found her after she was abandoned by her mother. Afterwards, he raised her the best he could, and made sure she was properly socialised.” 

“She gonna bite me if I try to say hi?” Geralt asked apprehensively. 

“No, not while I'm here anyway. Once she knows you she’ll be fine.” Regis smiled, stopping for a moment. Geralt looked down at the ekimmara as it absently sniffed at Regis' fingers. He gingerly extended a hand towards it. 

“Hi there.” he said quietly, keeping his hand ready to pull away as she sniffed at his fingers. After a tense moment she let out a happy sounding yap and licked at his palm. He bent down into a crouch and petted her carefully. “I don't even know if I want to ask how he managed to tame her.” Geralt mused, watching as she sniffed at the tear in his armour from the previous day. 

“She was only a few days old when he found her, and she's been hand reared since. I’d wager she knows higher vampires and humans better than her own kind.” Regis said. 

“Humans?” Geralt asked. 

“Geralt,” Regis admonished. “Do you think us social outcasts simply because we are vampires?” he laughed. 

“No, I just-” 

“Rest easy, my friend, I'm merely jesting.” Regis smiled. “I certainly wasn’t in any state to host guests for much of the time I spent recovering, but Dettlaff had human friends; ones he trusted enough to reveal his true nature to. A couple of them were frequent visitors to our home.” 

“Huh.” Geralt mused. “Maybe there is something to be said for nature vs. nurture.” He gave the ekimmara a final pat and stood back up. “Let’s keep going.” 

The group continued on down the winding forest path until the treeline suddenly broke, opening out into a wide courtyard, clearly abandoned for many years as it had fallen into disrepair. Crumbling fortress walls stood before them. The stonework had long since cracked and tumbled down, laying strewn around the courtyard, decaying and disused. A wide stone staircase led upwards to the keep beyond. Regis bent down and spoke to Reva in that familiar language. After a moment she grumbled something and lurched off into the trees. 

“She’ll stay close by.” Regis said, watching her leave. 

“What language were you speaking to her in? I’ve heard it before.” Geralt said after a moment. 

“It's our native language, from our home before the conjunction.” Regis said. “Where could you possibly have heard it?” he said, confused. 

“Saw some things when I was unconscious earlier…” Geralt began. Regis nodded. “Something I saw there, you and Dettlaff. You were in what looked like a cellar. He showed you a picture of a woman, and you were talking in that language, as well as the common tongue.” Geralt explained haltingly, trying to call back those foggy memories. 

“Hmm, did you see anything else?” Regis asked. 

“Yeah, I…” Geralt thought back. “I saw us, sitting in Mère-Lachaiselongue Cemetery, and I saw the hansa when we were in Toussaint, the night Dandelion played cards with us. I saw you finding a note from Dettlaff, and you when you were much younger at a field hospital, and-” 

“I understand. You needn't go on.” Regis interrupted. “Maybe I did use my hypnotism in that case. Though it was not my intention, my friend, I seem to have impressed upon you some of my more vivid memories.” he explained, looking concerned. “My apologies, I usually have better control over things like this.” 

“It's fine, Regis. Don't worry about it.'' Geralt smiled, gently squeezing his friend's shoulder. Regis gave him a tense nod. 

“Come, Geralt. We're almost there.” Regis sidestepped the Witcher and led the way up the winding stone staircase. 

“Sure you want to do this?” Geralt asked as they reached the top. 

“I would much rather do literally anything else.” Regis replied. “But I can think of no other way. Please, let's hurry. I don't know how much longer I will have control of my faculties.”

Geralt nodded in understanding.

“Lead the way.” He gestured to the path ahead. Regis strode on ahead of him, leading him through the remains of collapsed out-buildings and crumbling paths. Regis suddenly came to a stop in the middle of the roadway. 

“Regis? What’s-” Geralt noticed it almost as soon as he opened his mouth. A partially decomposed body lay ahead of them on the path. Its arms and torso had been torn apart and gnawed on. Only now did Geralt notice the faint hint of old blood and decomposition that wafted toward him on the wind. Geralt stepped nearer and crouched down to take a closer look. 

“Scurvers.” Geralt muttered. “Must be getting close to their feeding ground.” 

“We knew there would be danger.'' Regis replied, not having moved from where he'd stopped. 

“You okay?” Geralt asked, getting back to his feet and regarding Regis with concern. 

“My head is spinning.” Regis replied, looking away from the corpse. He stood silhouetted against the moon, and his eyes glowed dimly, piercing through the darkness. “And you're beginning to smell quite tasty.” 

“And you're beginning to scare me.” Geralt retorted, guiding his friend around the body and toward the keep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever Kudos, comments, and con-crit all welcome! You can also find me on tumblr @bagginsgotdabooty if anyone wanted to talk to me over there. Thank you all for your kudos and comments, they really mean a lot! They were the main thing keeping me coming back to this with the intent to finish it 
> 
> In Etruscan, Reva means Dream.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank again to Seb for beta'ing and forcing me to post this. Enjoy.

The main keep stood before them, its crumbling walls rose high, dotted with ancient alcoves and jagged gaps in the stone. Regis focused on the bricked up doorway in front of them. He mumbled something while digging his sharp nails into the palm of his hand. The stone lit up with a familiar set of symbols as he pressed his bloodstained fingers against it. The wall slid away in a cloud of dark smoke, revealing a dark passageway that led down below the keep. 

“Huh. Quite an entrance.” Geralt mused, watching the wall open up. 

“It's an ancient form of protection against unwanted guests. The mechanism which releases the latch reacts only to a higher vampire’s blood.” Regis explained, stepping into the darkness beyond. 

“Tricky mechanisms, a vampire hideout, fortified and secured. Must've been important to your species once, Toussaint.” Geralt said, following after Regis. They descended down creaking wooden stairs, which were rotten and splintered in places. Geralt worried that they might collapse altogether under their combined weight. 

“It shall always be so.” Regis began, stepping into an entrance hall at the bottom of the stairs.

Shelves and crates lined one side of the room, falling apart through age, their contents long mouldered and ruined. The wall at the other side had tumbled in, filling that whole side with shattered bricks and damp earth. An old metal gate hung off of its hinges against the far wall, leading to a stairwell that descended further into the gloom. 

“During the conjunction, the gate from our world into this one opened upon this land and no other.” Regis explained, perching himself atop a large chest that stood next to the gate. “This was the first place they saw.” 

Geralt nodded, digging through the contents of the shelves, looking for anything that may have survived. 

“So you-” he began, pulling a book out of a pile of detritus and dusting off the cover. He fell silent when he saw the words embossed upon it in long eroded gilding. 

“Human Husbandry and Care?” he said, carefully turning the pages. “This for real?” 

“The author observed humans, their behaviour, over the many years he spent breeding them. Morally suspect though it may be, it is a thorough survey of the topic.” Regis said. Geralt noticed a subtle slur creeping into his words, and noted that even through the gloom the vampire’s eyes looked hazy and unfocused. “Come on. We’re not far now, Geralt.”

Regis hopped down from the chest and led Geralt on through the gated doorway and down another set of rickety stairs. Geralt left the book lying on top of the crates and followed on after his friend. The stairs circled around the walls of a wide stairwell. At its center was a pitch black drop, leading down so far Geralt could not make out the bottom, even with his superior sight. The very darkness itself felt as if it had mass, weighing down on the witcher and making his skin crawl. 

“This place- There's evil here. Death hangs in the air.” Geralt said at length, trying to put the sensation into words. 

“Yes. A great many beings breathed their last here.” Regis said, casting a glance back to Geralt where he had stopped several paces behind to stare down into the abyss. “Come, Geralt.” 

Geralt nodded and followed Regis on into another dilapidated room, this one had carvings etched into the walls. They formed shapes wholly unfamiliar to him, though the longer he looked at them to more he could make out. 

“Glyphs carved into the rock, used to be coated with blood. They mean something?” he asked, observing the one closest to the doorway.

“They’re emblems. Symbols of what you might call tribes.” Regis replied from where he was leant against a fallen wooden door that rested against the far wall, its hinges long since rusted and broken. “My kin dispersed throughout the world after the conjunction. My ancestors placed the symbols here to remind us where we came from.” 

Geralt finally realised what the glyph he was looking at represented. It was an open hand with a blood droplet on the palm. 

“Which one is this?” he asked, examining the traces of long dried blood that had flaked from the etchings. 

“Gharasham.” Regis said. “My tribe, and Dettlaff's. Our families remained in this part of the world.” Geralt nodded, looking across at the far wall where another lay carved into the stone. This one was another hand, with three fingers pointed upwards and a snake coiled around it. 

“What about this one?” Geralt asked. 

“It's the symbol of the Tdet. Those who went east beyond the Blue Mountains.” 

“You mean the vampires spread out when they arrived after the conjunction?” Geralt asked, turning to face Regis. 

“Yes.” Regis explained from where he still lounged against the fallen door. “Many among my kind found they had no enjoyment for human society, so chose to move on, searching for a place that they could make their own.”

“What about them?” Geralt said, gesturing to the final symbol; a hand grasping a downpointed dagger. “Did they stay?” 

“No.” Regis sighed. “The Ammurun ventured beyond the sea.” 

“Seem pretty spread out, then.” Geralt mused, digging through the long forgotten contents of a low table. He pulled out another surviving book. “Battery Cage vs. Free-Range Humans… seems like your kind assembled a peculiar little library.”

“Indeed.” Regis replied, regarding the book with a grimace. “Though I personally never laid a hand to it.”

Geralt began flicking through the pages, scanning the words within. It was written in the style of a research thesis, presenting the benefits and pitfalls of each method. 

“Maybe you should.” Geralt mused, placing the book back down in an obvious place in the center of the table, hoping it would catch his eye on their way out and remind him to grab it. “They have some pretty interesting ideas here about keeping humans as pets… seems awfully familiar.” he laughed. 

“Please, Geralt. It’s rather poor form to joke about it, don't you think?” Regis admonished him. Geralt noticed a slight sway in Regis' usually graceful movement as he pushed himself away from the door.

“I guess so. Although being somber wont turn back time.” Geralt said, leading the way through the doorway into the next room. 

Before him stood a long corridor, barred cells lined the walls, most contained piles of debris and the occasional skeleton. 

“Cells? Who for?” Geralt said, stepping into the first open cell and examining the small skeleton that lay within. 

“Ah, disgraceful, excruciatingly so, this particular page from our history.” Regis began. Geralt lifted the skull to examine the teeth, and found them to be perfectly human, though some were missing, and others had only just begun to emerge from the jaw, and certainly not the sharp pointed teeth of a vampire that Geralt had expected. 

“I’d rather not summon the demons of the past, if that’s alright with you…” Regis said pointedly, watching Geralt as he gently placed the skull back down where he had found it. 

Geralt glanced around the rest of the cell, noting a moth eaten doll lying in the corner, within arms reach of the skeleton. He pieced the scene together, gently placing the doll under the arm of the skeleton with a frown. 

“Yeah, sorry.” Geralt said, unsure whether he was speaking to Regis or the bones of the long dead child.

They continued on through the cells, Geralt paused occasionally to examine the bodies of the humans that had resided here. There was a roll of brittle old paper stuck in the bars of one of the cell doors, and Geralt retrieved it carefully. It appeared to be notes, scrawled by a shaky hand in smudged charcoal. It detailed the ordeal of one of the prisoners. Geralt couldn't even begin to fathom how long it had lain there, just waiting to be discovered. 

Not far along from them, hidden in a shady alcove, was a small leatherbound diary. Its contents were handwritten in an unfamiliar angular hand, a far cry from the common cursive used by scribes and scholars. Geralt could make out some of it, what appeared to be a log of a conversation between one of the ancient vampires and a human prisoner, but much of the book was written in symbols that Geralt had never seen, and couldn't begin to fathom. 

“Take a look at this.” Geralt said, after thoroughly examining it. He held it out to Regis, open on one of the pages of mysterious text. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

Regis took the book from him, his eyes scanning quickly over the pages as though reading. 

“It is written in my native language and alphabet.” Regis explained. “We have so very few documents surviving from the conjunction, I've barely seen any before.” He flicked back and forth in the book. “We are taught the language when we are young, but honestly as the younger generations integrated more with human society, or moved on, we have had less and less cause to continue using it, especially when the common tongue is so prevalent now in our own society as well as yours.” Regis closed the book with a snap. “I’ll be honest my friend, I’m barely fluent. Especially not in this dialect.” 

“Huh, I thought you and Dettlaff spoke it?” Geralt asked. 

“It is more of a modern form, mixed with much of your language.” He thought for a moment, slipping the book into his satchel. “Think of it as merely using the best words to describe your thoughts, whether they be from one language or the other.”

Geralt nodded, understanding dawning on him. He could relate to that well enough, speaking some elder speech himself he knew that sometimes another language had words that were simply untranslatable. 

“What does it say?” Geralt asked. “The rest of the book?” 

“I cannot speak for its full contents, but it appears to be documentation of another of my kins research on human anatomy, bonding practices, language and cultural barriers, among other things....” Regis explained. “Please, Geralt we can talk about this as much as you desire once we are free of this place.” Regis massaged his brow with his finger tips. 

“Yeah, sorry Regis, let’s go.'' Geralt led them through the cells, down another flight of rickety stairs, into a large circular room. A huge cage lay in the center, connected to a rusted pulley system by a vast chain. Around the edges of the room hung other smaller cages, suspended at different heights. Some of them had fallen down over the years, and lay bent and mangled on the flagstones below. 

“Charming place.” Geralt said sarcastically. “What’re those cages for? Only mentioned one vampire being kept here…” 

“Yes, well…” Regis paused, swaying slightly as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “You see, humanitarians is something my ancestors were not. They concluded that Khagmar would best be punished if he were tormented with the scent of blood he could not taste. They also kept humans here, whose blood they slowly let. Khagmar ranted and raged in pain as those.. Those humans slowly bled to death.” Regis explained. Geralt stopped beside the cage in the center and examined the bars, they looked firm enough. Thankfully time had not been too hard on them. 

“They treated them like livestock… live bait…” Geralt said in disbelief.

“I’d like to be able to turn back time, deny it, but alas.. I can do neither. Feel shame for my brethren, that's all I can do.” Regis sighed, looking at Geralt with a sobering expression, even with the vampire's lack of his own sobriety. 

“Don't take it so hard, nothing you could’ve done about it.” Geralt clapped the vampire on the shoulder as he walked past him, heading for one of the other cages, and left a dusty handprint behind. “Let's get to work.” 

“Yes. Fine.” Regis tried and failed to brush the dust from his shoulder, succeeding only in spreading it around. “I’ve prepared the bait, please be so kind as to place it. Ideally at the tunnel entrances. The scent will spread most effectively there.” 

“Dread to think how these tunnels got here.” Geralt said, taking the waxed linen sack of bait from Regis' outstretched hand.

“It is the natural order of things. The place reeked of death and attracted necrophages.” Regis explained, misting away in a dark cloud. Geralt watched his form drift upward to a collapsing balcony positioned above as he picked his way through all the dirt and debris to a nearby tunnel entrance. A dusty candle spluttered into existence, followed quickly by two more as they were covered by Regis' shadowy form. They cast a dim glow over the room, allowing Geralt to have a better view of the tunnels that riddled the walls. There were many, all branching off in different directions and criss crossing over each other. 

“Think this’ll work?” Geralt asked as he threw the last of the bait into a tunnel entrance. 

“I certainly hope so.” Regis' disembodied voice echoed back to him. “The meat’s stench is so thick I wager it carries clear to Novigrad.” The vampire reappeared beside the cage in the center of the room, laying his hands on the bars and shaking them experimentally.

“This’ll hold?” Geralt asked, returning to stand beside Regis. “Doesn't look like anything special…” 

“I told you, Khagmar thrashed about inside it for over a century. Appearances can be deceiving.” Regis replied, taking a look at the heavy padlock that hung open off the latch. The metal bolt shone strangely in the candlelight, taking on an almost oily sheen. Geralt noticed then that the same sheen covered the bars of the cage, to a lesser extent. 

“Uh-huh, and how long has it stood empty here, decaying?” Geralt retorted, regarding the bars with suspicion. 

“Many more centuries since,” Regis replied. “but my kind are not so short lived, our creations are built to last.” 

“If you say so…” Geralt said. A quiet scuffling began to echo down the tunnels. Geralt's hand shot to his sword, but he stopped when Regis placed a hand on his arm. 

“They're coming. Quickly Geralt, they will be here in a matter of seconds.” Regis explained as he swung the cage door open and stepped inside. The scuffling grew louder. “The bars are made of an alloy that will prevent me from transforming into mist.” 

“Kinda thought you wouldn't want to...” Geralt said as he swung the cage door closed and struggled with the rusted padlock. Animalistic screams began to accompany the ever increasing scuffling. 

“I shall be in great pain, I cannot know what I will do.” Regis said, turning to see what was taking Geralt so long. The witcher was trying to force the bolt of the padlock down but it was rusted tight. 

Suddenly there was movement in the room, a great explosion of dust and plaster erupted from one of the boarded up tunnels, and a huge rotfiend emerged from the cloud. 

“Fuck.” Geralt muttered, all but throwing the padlock into Regis' hands as he drew his silver sword. The creature leapt at him as he turned, and he managed to dodge it just barely, not having time to parry or land his footing and he dropped into a roll. 

“Geralt! The lock!” Regis shouted after the witcher. 

“You'll have to work it out yourself!” Geralt called back over the roaring of more necrophages. He jumped to his feet and drove his sword through the back of the first rotfiend, which began choking and spluttering. He dived away again, cutting a wide arc along the shoulders of another as he did so. The first one exploded, triggering the other into its own choking fit. Regis threaded his arms through the bars and hooked the padlock through the latch, forcing it closed with a horrible metallic grinding. 

“Geralt!” Regis called again, tearing the key from the lock and tossing it to the witcher. Geralt caught it and slipped it into a hidden pocket beneath his armour. He leapt over the body of the rotfiend as the other exploded behind him, heading for Regis. “You must chain me inside.” Regis said hurried, gesturing to the wrist restraints affixed to the side of the cage. Howling began echoing down the tunnels, and scurvers started to appear, drawn by the scent of their fallen kin. 

Geralt glanced between Regis and the approaching monsters. 

“You're sure that lock is going to hold?” Geralt asked, placing his back against the bars as the scurvers surrounded him. 

“Yes Geralt, now please, the chains.” Regis said, flinching as he smelled the blood dripping from Geralt's armour. 

“No time, Regis.” Geralt said, dodging away as the scurvers jumped at him. “That lock will just have to hold.” 

Geralt found himself backed up against the wall, directly next to him was a battered wooden lever. The scurvers growled and rounded on him again. Geralt eyed the ropes attached to the lever and found that the formed part of the pulley system attached to the cage. Without a second thought he grabbed the lever with his free hand and pushed it down, sending the cage soaring into the air. 

“Geralt! What are you doing?” Regis cried. 

“If I stand still long enough to fasten those chains-” he stopped to parry the attack of an approaching scurver, blocking its claws with the flat of his blade and pushing it back. “I’ll be necrophage food.” He drove his sword through the creature's neck, and moved on to the next target before its body had even hit the floor. 

Regis groaned, and Geralt glanced up at him. Regis was hunched over with his head resting against the bars, holding onto them with a white-knuckled grip. 

“Maybe we should have a safeword?” Geralt called up to him. Regis huffed out a strained laugh. “You know, something you say when you can’t take it anymore.” Geralt continued, dodging around another scurver and kicking it to the floor. 

“Yes, I know what a safeword is.” Regis said, regarding him with pained amusement. “But tell me, what would you do once I uttered it?” 

“Don't know.” Geralt cast an orange glow over the room as he buried a scurver in flames with Igni. “Uh, calm you down somehow?..” 

“Please, Geralt., you won't be able to.” Regis said. “Forging through it is all we can do.” 

More necrophages swarmed in through the tunnels, quickly beginning to appear faster than Geralt could dispatch them. It was, in every sense of the word, a bloodbath. The flagstone floor began to grow slippery beneath the blood oozing from the bodies of the creatures as they writhed in their death throes and grew still. Sweat ran from Geralt's brow and mingled on his skin with dirt and his own blood as he dodged and parried, felling creature after creature.

He knew this wasn't sustainable; he could feel his muscles burning, his Quen weakening, and knew he would soon begin to slow. There was not a moment's reprieve from the masses of necrophages as they darted from the tunnels and into the fray. Geralt had no idea how to get them to stop coming. It was as if their colony was never ending, and he would have to kill every last one of them in order to leave the ruins alive. 

Regis howled above him; a sound he had only heard once before and hoped to never hear again. He shoved down the memories of stygga castle, of watching Regis be melted to bubbling ash in front of him, and of how his friend had screamed until his lungs gave out. 

“Regis, holding up okay?” Geralt called up to him. 

“It grows worse and worse, but I shall overcome it.” Regis replied with some difficulty, unable to keep the harsh edge from his words. 

“Good, because there's no sign that they’re stopping any time soon.” Geralt replied. His foot slipped on the blood slick floor as he tried to dodge an incoming scurver. He managed to keep his balance just barely, but the scurver broke through the last of his Quen shield and sunk its claws deep into his arm, hanging on with all of its strength. Geralt cried out in pain, striking out blindly with his sword. He felt it make contact with something, and the claws detached from the meat of his bicep. Warmth trickled down his arm, and blood began dripping down into his glove. 

He had no time to examine the wound, the scurver quickly rounded on him again as he fought to bring his sword up into a defensive stance. Regis cried out again, causing the cage to swing on its chain as he writhed inside. Geralt gave the scurver no chance to attack him again. He quickly swung his sword at it, cleany separating its head from its torso. He grabbed a vial of swallow from his potion belt and drank the contents, smashing the bottle against the wall, out of the way of his feet. A warm tingling spreading through his arm, and several other places he didn't even know that he’d been injured. 

He felt rejuvenated, and the quantity of necrophages that were pouring into the room seemed to be thinning out. He just might gain the upper hand, if he was careful. He swung his sword in a wide arc and regained his stance, focusing on the next nearest creature. His newfound resolve was immediately shattered when a bloodcurdling screeching came from behind him. 

He whipped around, and felt his blood turn to ice as he was faced with a huge katakan. It was taller than he was and almost twice as wide. It screeched again and swiped at him with its oversized claws. Regis howled with rage above him, seeming almost frenzied when the lesser vampire appeared. Geralt dodged its sharp claws and rolled backwards, into the center of the room. He took stock of hIs situation. The necrophages seemed apprehensive of the new arrival and had begun crawling back into the tunnels. The katakan showed no such fear of Geralt though. It pounced forwards, scratching deep gouges out of his armour when he barely dodged in time. He sidestepped the beast and hit it hard in the back. It roared and rounded on him again as he swung for its stomach, leaving a deep gash in the soft flesh of its abdomen. 

Regis had not stopped snarling since it appeared, and to Geralt he seemed wholly delirious, lost in his bloodlust. Geralt delivered a final blow to the katakan’s shoulder, receiving a shriek in return before it began backing away toward the tunnel it had emerged from. Geralt had half a mind to follow it and finish the job, but he couldn't leave Regis here alone. Geralt watched it go, making sure it had disappeared far into the darkness before he let his guard down. 

The rest of the necrophages had since slunk back into their holes, leaving the room silent except for his heaving breathing and Regis' snarls. He sheathed his sword and hurried over to the cage lever. 

“Hold on, Regis.” he said, pulling it back up with some effort. “Hold on, I'll let you out.” The cage lowered down perhaps faster than the mechanism was originally designed to, and hit the floor with a crash. Geralt approached cautiously, watching Regis for any signs of further distress. Regis looked back at him silently from behind the bars. Others might've described his appearance as monstrous, but Geralt had seen what true monsters looked like. Regis’ teeth had grown in size and protruded from his mouth, giving him the appearance of a permanent snarl. His nails had lengthened into huge claws which he rested against the bars of the cage. Regis sniffed the air as Geralt got within arms reach. 

“Hey Regis, it's just me.” Geralt said placatingly, ready to jump back if Regis lunged for him. “Just need to borrow your hand for a minute okay?” Geralt edged forward again, and Regis still didn’t show any sign of movement. He watched as Geralt gingerly extended his hand and passed it through the bars, taking Regis’ in his own. Regis looked down at their hands and his nostrils flared again. Geralt wished there had been time to secure Regis properly, as he knew the risks he was taking, shoving his blood covered hands into the cage, but needs must, he supposed. He turned Regis’ hand over and drew it back through the bars. To his surprise the vampire let him with no protest. Geralt pulled an empty vial from his pocket and shoved it haphazardly into his potions belt for easy access. Regis was looking between his hand that still sat in Geralt's grasp, and the witcher's movements. 

“Sorry Regis, you're probably not going to be happy about this…” Geralt said as he pulled his hunting knife from its sheath on his back. He slid it across Regis' fingers in one fluid motion, dropping it almost immediately to grab for the vial. Regis howled and tried to strike at him, but Geralt held his wrist in an iron grip, dodging around the claws as his friend thrashed. He managed to fill the vial about two thirds when Regis wrenched his arm from the witchers grasp. Geralt put his thumb over the top so that it wouldn't spill as he dodged backwards, almost completely avoiding the swipe of his claws. He was left with a deep rent into the shoulder piece of his armour and shallow cut on this cheek which bled sluggishly. 

Regis pulled his arm back inside the cage and licked the remnants of blood from his claws. He snarled, reaching again for Geralt, who’d had the sense to retreat out of arm's reach. He corked the vial and stowed it in his potions belt. 

“Don't worry, blood’ll be dry soon.” Geralt attempted to placate him, to little effect. Regis continued to struggle against the bars of the cage. Geralt sighed and dropped to his knees to meditate. He grimaced as he felt the coagulating blood begin to soak into his clothing. “Gonna be a long night for us both.” Geralt said in answer to another of Regis’ howls. 


End file.
